Time and Again
by Shruika
Summary: Collection of short stories revolving around Lavi/Rabi.
1. Only a Little

Edit: Revised the first chapter a little. :)

Lyrics: _Der Deal_, Silbermond+Udo Lindenberg (original lyrics in italic)

* * *

When I think about the human nature, I think about wars. I think about blood, cries of pain, tears, eyes full of fear. Stares full of rejection, wrath and hate. I can hear the shattering of weapons, the screams, the insults. They are all in my head. Carved into my memory. Carved into my own eye. When I think about humans, I think about wars. But thinking doesn't mean I feel regret for anyone of the hundreds of thousands of humans I've come across. Wether they're dead or not. They don't mean anything to me. Stupid as they are. Unimportant as they are. They are the same as anything else around me – things to be observed.

_Man ist komplett cool  
Man denkt digital  
Das Herz ist aus Eisen  
Und die Nerven sind aus Stahl  
Man ist in Sachen Liebe  
Nicht interessiert und ganz immun  
Man wird besonders süße Sachen  
Natürlich niemals tun_

**_You're completely cool  
You think digitally  
The heart's out of iron  
And the nerves are out of steel  
In things like love  
You're not interested and wholey immune  
Of course you won't ever do  
Specially sweet things_**

I keep the distance. As long as I keep the distance, everything's okay. I don't need to get involved with any of them too deeply. I'm not interested in them. If everything they do is waging war, fighting each other, hating each other, destroying anything around them, I don't need to get involved with them any further than I have to.

_Vergiss nie  
Wir haben einen Deal  
Ich lieb dich nur ein bisschen, aber nicht zu viel_

**_Don't ever forget  
We have a deal  
I only love you a little but not too much_**

At the same time, it's easier to get forward in this world full of humans when you interact at a certain level. Answer if you are questioned by a person you want to question yourself, even if it's not the truth. Speak to them if you need more information than you can get by looking at your surroundings. You have to see underneath the surface of it all. Smile. A smile can open your counterpart's heart, can help you to get the wanted information. Can get you trust. And trusting humans usually don't hide important facts.  
I can even laugh if the others are laughing. It's an easy thing to do and suddenly you are no enemy anymore, no stranger.  
I can laugh with them, can eat and drink with them, even sleep in the same building. I can fight with them. But that's it. I don't have to trust them because of that. Friendship's a single word that doesn't mean anything if arms are held high and the faces seem to be made of stone and the first real stone flies and the hate explodes on both sides.

_Richtige Liebe ist, sei'n wir mal ehrlich  
Richtige Liebe ist viel zu gefährlich  
Nein, das Große, das wir haben  
Das setzen wir nicht auf's Spiel  
Darum lieb ich dich nur ein bisschen, aber nie zu viel_

**_True love is, let's be honest  
True love is much too dangerous  
No, all we've got  
We won't put that on stake  
Therefore, I only love you a litte but never too much_**

At some point, I remember now, I couldn't distinguish anymore between my false smiles and me laughing with them because I just felt like it. Is there even a point in trying? As long as I don't get absorbed by them, don't get too touched, too involved… Yeah, sure. They can be pretty funny. It can be fun being around them. In all those uncountable fights against the Akuma, the Noah, the Earl, I could rely on their strength. I had to, there was no way round, though I'd rather rely only on myself. That's far healthier. Don't rely on others or you're left. But at some point – I just didn't try to repel them all the time. I took their help if they were to offer it. Why not take what's being given to you on the golden tray? Still - never let your guard down.

_Du gehst mir  
Am Arsch vorbei  
Obwohl's auch gut ist  
Wir zwei  
Denn manchmal  
Machst du's mir schwer  
Dann gibt es auch bei mir  
Keine Gegenwehr mehr  
Fast so als ob ich dich schon immer kannte  
Sind wir wie zwei Seelenverwandte  
Doch keinen Grund den Verstand zu verliern  
Und dabei Kopf und Kragen zu riskiern_

**_I don't give a shit  
About you  
Although it's also good  
The two of us  
'Cause sometimes  
You're making it difficult for me  
Then there's no resistance  
Of me neither  
Nearly as if I knew you always  
We are like two soulmates  
Still, no reason to lose sanity  
And thereby risk your neck_**

_Vergiss nie  
Wir haben einen Deal  
Ich lieb dich nur ein bisschen aber nicht zu viel_

**_Don't ever forget  
We have a deal  
I only love you a little but not too much_**

I have a clear mission in my life and almost from the very beginning it became my whole life. Even part of my self, part of my personality... I have to record everything around me in order to save it for the future. All those wars… In all that blood, a single human person is easily forgotten, is easily lost. In all that blood, all that riot and noise, a single human person doesn't mean a thing. Doesn't mean anything at all. It's totally meaningless. And I've accepted that. There was no other way being confronted with it every day, unable to look away, unable to forget.

I don't tell people how I feel. It's not their business and I don't want anybody to know about it, anyway. No need to tell anyone. I'll keep it to myself for these emotions and thoughts are something that can't be taken away from me as long as I don't give them away myself. I would feel vulnerable, facing the truth, terribly vulnerable if another person would know about my self.  
And I'd've definitely died in one of those wars if some mad, senseless humans had discovered the fear clutching my chest at the beginning of Jiji's and my journey, or the disgust at their sight later. So I face them with indifference. For they are so unimportant to me. I can't feel any sympathy for humans whose human nature is not only tainted by envy, prejudice and irrational hate, but also personal preferences, friendships and love. And so I keep the distance. Have fun with them as long as I can but don't get too involved as to feel bound someday.

_Richtige Liebe ist, sein wir mal ehrlich  
Richtige Liebe ist viel zu gefährlich  
Nein das Große das wir haben  
Das setzen wir nicht auf's Spiel  
Darum lieb ich dich nur ein bisschen aber nie zu viel_

**_True love is, let's be honest  
True love is much too dangerous  
No, all we've got  
We won't put that on stake  
Therefore, I only love you a litte but never too much_**

Deep, true feelings would just destroy the fragile frame of friendship I've built up to them. I would lose my sense of life for I wouldn't be a bookman anymore whose first thought and memory has to be ojective in any possible case. As well as I would lose my personal shelter because irrational feelings tend to end in war. Which I've seen often enough throughout my eight-teen years of life. 49 wars and counting.  
When I think about the human nature, I think about wars and blood. But by now, also about shallow feelings. My own shallow feelings. Kept as those in order to prevent me from being hurt.

_Leute wie wir  
Bleiben immer schön cool  
Wir tragen immer  
Das Pokergesicht  
Tiefe Seele  
Geht keinen was an  
Große Gefühle  
Zeigen wir nicht_

**_People like us  
Always stay fairly cool  
We always wear  
The pokerface  
A deep soul  
Doesn't regard anyone  
Big emotions  
Are not shown by us_**


	2. How to make it right

Lyrics: Keane, _Is it any wonder_

* * *

'Lavi?'  
The voice was a little higher than normal, stained with a hint of worry about the young man who was sitting at a scarcely lit, old wooden table in an otherwise dusty dark corner of the head quarter's library with three staples of variously labelled books casting shadows against the wall in the flickering light of the candles. He looked up at the by now so well known voice of Lenalee Lee, the black-haired Exorcist he'd been teamed up with many times since he and Bookman had come to the Black Order. And by now, he could also easily differentiate the small changes in her voice, could tell that she was a little unsure, yet unwilling to let anything other than worry show.

'Yeah?', he asked back and smiled at her.  
Very Lavi-ish. Very typical for the person he was being here.  
'Somethin' happened? Don't tell me the others finally finished their midnight picknick, they were so enthusiastic about it, and I could hear Yuu snarl about Allen being such a noisy glutton up to here.'

The thin girl shook her head slightly, stepped nearer and sat down on a chair next to him. Beside the short flicker of amusement on her features, her eyes were serious and somewhat – determined.  
'I'm sorry if I disturb you in your studies', she continued. 'I know it's important for you to keep up the tasks Bookman gives you. But... there's something important I have to talk to you about.'  
Her gaze fell down onto her lab as she seemed to search for the right words to carry on._  
_The red-haired youngster, still a quill in one of his ink-stained hands and the other on the page of an opened book, stared at her with the single green eye that wasn't covered by a black eye-patch. Inwardly, his impatience grew but he wasn't going to let a sign of that leak out.  
_Lavi _had always time for one of his comrades.  
As Lenalee lifted her gaze again, her dark eyes pierced into his own one, and as she spoke, she did so in her mother tongue, Chinese. Yet, the person opposite her understood every word.

'You know, back then, a few weeks after you came to the Order and I got teamed up with you, I was so sure that you belonged to those people who can loves to make anyone smile with their easy-going nature. I truly believed that you also wanted to help those who cannot fight in this war, that you would - … Well, I guess I've been pretty naive until now, haven't I.'  
She had intertwined her delicate fingers now, seemingly unaware to how tightly she did so.  
'Lavi... I'm sorry I didn't realise it earlier, but – but you've never really thought about the fights as I did, did you? That they were for a good reason, to let people live in peace, to protect those important to oneself. Or something like that I always imagined, at least.'  
Lenalee broke off, laughing lowly and in doing so looked terribly lost. Because to her, these were the things that kept her going, that kept her alive and fighting. If not for that, what sense would it make to endure all the pain?

__

[I, I always thought that I knew  
I'd always have the right to  
Be living in the kingdom of the good and true  
And so on  
But now I think I was wrong  
And you were laughing along  
And now I look a fool for thinking you were on my side]

'Lenalee – what are you saying?', Lavi retorted and laughed like _he _always did if the atmosphere got too moody for his liking.  
'Who told ya such stories – see, it's no good to take everything to heard what people say all day. People talk 'n' talk, most of the time without any reason.'  
He laid his quill aside and – after brushing them lazily at his trousers – his hands on the girl's slim shoulders, holding her at armslength so she would face him.  
'I'm still here, am I not?'

Since he didn't wear his bandana right now, long, dark-red strands of hair partly fell over his face as he took his hands back and lazily leaned into his own chair, the voice still a little taunting, still a little calming, and yet with a new hint of something else.  
Something that wasn't very Lavi-ish.  
'And in the end, it doesn't matter what's the reason for killing Akuma. As long as the humans survive, they have no reason to be complain either.'  
Unconciously, the tall apprentice of Bookman had placed his chin on the palm of his hand, elbow on the dark mahagonian wood that had seen so many, countless, recorders, that one more or less wouldn't make any difference, and exhaled sighing.

It had been a bad idea, joining the ranks of the Exorcists in order to get the best chances of recording History from the front lines as well as from within one of the war parties. Now he and Jiji were stuck in this mess – a mess of orders, missions, fights; a mess of dealing with people, keeping the facade at all times, never letting your guard down, and the human relationships... all the relations...  
He'd always watched such relationships among humans from the distant, had kept the distance necessary to stay unbiased, had watched how humans walked by, like flies caught in a huge net whose strings connected people, and most of the time so unaware to it. A net whose strings could throw people into desperation.  
And now, for the first time in his life he felt as if those strings had caught him, too. Had, without warning, quietly and unsuspiciously, wrapped themselves around him, binding him to people from the Black Order, to the Exorcists, to the Innocence and therefore to some kind of religion which he hated in any form. He felt trapped. And the strings cut into his flesh deeper every day.

__

~Is it any wonder I'm tired  
Is it any wonder that I feel uptied  
Is it any wonder I don't know what's right~

Lenalee still had neither moved her intertwined fingers nor her gaze that lay on the hammer-wielding Exorcist.  
'I'm sorry, you seem tired', she said, sympathy ringing in her voice.  
'But – I thought about it before I came here and – no matter what's your reason for fighting along us, I'm glad you do. I'm glad you're with us. And... You're still someone very important to me.'  
With a creek of her chair, she stood up.  
'I just wanted to let you know that', she told him, still in Chinese.  
Lavi adjusted himself anew and sat up. His green eye looked darker than usual in the unsufficient light – inwardly, Lenalee was suprised that he didn't need any glasses yet, with all the reading he did, all the writing, and seemingly without caring about the hours passing and the days fading into nights. All alone up in the library or his and Bookman's room.

He tried. He tried and finally managed the smile. But it wasn't as flawless as normally and he felt something crack inside himself a little more when he realised there was no way he could let his face slip. No way he could stop these disturbing feelings that his current persona felt if he didn't want to lose _himself_. His Bookman-self, the one who was forty-eight different personalities, the one who – through the eyes of forty-eight different aliases – had seen so many wars, so much blood, had healt from countless injuries and learned to ignore the cries for help of mothers wielding bleeding children, and the insults, and the noise of the weapons, and the screams of people burning alive, and the sight of bodies ripped apart like puppets, wounds impossible to treat, and blood – oh, all the blood, on humans he counted to fill into the records, on walls, on flowers, on the ground, on himself.

_  
~Sometimes  
It's hard to now where I stand  
It's hard to know where I am  
Well, maybe it's a puzzle I don't understand  
Sometimes  
I get the feeling that I'm  
Stranded in the wrong time  
Where love is just a lyric in a children's rhyme~  
_

'Lavi?'  
_  
A soundbite__  
_

No, the apprentice of the Bookman thought and stood up, not looking at the girl in front of him. Not daring to.  
No, he thought again. I'm not really _Lavi_. I'm just pretending to be. I could be anyone else, someone you wouldn't care for, someone you wouldn't think of as a friend or a comrade. Even someone you would hate with all your heart. And in truth, I guess I am such a hateful person. If the term _person_ applies to someone who can shed his personality as easy and unaffected as me. As unemotional.  
No. This wasn't supposed to happen. How could Jiji not think about the negative consequences of this long-term stay? It's getting hard to differentiate between my and _Lavi_'s feelings. It's getting so hard to stay unaffected, unemotional...

_  
~Is it any wonder I'm tired  
Is it any wonder that I feel uptied  
Is it any wonder I don't know what's right  
Oh, these days  
After all the misery made  
Is it any wonder that I feel afraid  
Is it any wonder that I feel betrayed~  
_

'Tell me, Lenalee', Lavi said and his voice was void of humour or taunting. Or any other emotion. Void of _Lavi_. It sounded so indifferent and – cold. And now his green eye caught her gaze, and all she could read in it was a small flicker of the tiredness of too many lives, too many wars - and anger.  
'Tell me, what will happen if the Order falls? If your so-called _God_ cannot win this fight with his faithful Innocence-soldiers? I can tell you. Because I saw it already.  
Nothing. Nothing will change, humans will still die in wars and it doesn't matter if they fight among themselves or with Akumas or with Noahs or with whatever! They'll never stop the carnage. Nothing will be left after this war if the Earl wins. But if _humanity_ wins, it'll be the same. The humans don't need the Earl or his machines or his family to destroy themselves over and over again. They do quite a good job on their own.'  
He laughed lowly, bitter.

'Tell me, Lenalee – how do you make it right with such a distorted, cruel reality that won't stop repeating because it's god-damned _human_ for people to make the same flaws over and over again?'  
Bookman Junior shook his head in disgust, and Lavi and Lenalee were silent.

_  
~Nothing left beside this old cathedral  
Just the sad, lonely spires  
How do you make it right~_

_~Oh, but you try  
Is it any wonder I'm tired  
Is it any wonder that I feel uptied  
Is it any wonder I don't know what's right  
Oh, these days  
After all the misery made  
Is it any wonder that I feel afraid  
Is it any wonder that I feel betrayed~_


	3. On the Run

Lyrics: Ryan Starr, _Brand New Day_

* * *

The soldiers marched in a mass, stomping their boots onto the ground, none of them batting an eyelid but instead staring at the backs of the head of their frontmen. And the people on the sidelines of the streets, the people around Jiji and me, screamed frantically. Men and women, old and young, every one of them hailed the soldiers in their tight fitting uniforms who were marching towards the battlefield, towards their enemy. A sunbeam broke through the ceiling; the weapons they held glinted, promising blood and pain and murder.  
Inwardly I took notes for later written documentation. Notes about the people's general mood but also about some sideline comments, about those who were left behind and those who would join the soldiers in a war the majority seemed to anticipate feverishly, about those whose faces hinted something different than support for the following carnage. And a carnage it would be, without doubt, without fail. Because I knew there was no way it would be any different than the last wars I had witnessed. It would be the same all over again, maybe for different reasons, for different alibies, against different enemies. But the soldiers, the weapons and the carnage would be the same. Time and again.  
And in the back of my mind a tiny little thought occured: This was not only tiring, it was boring.

I looked down at Jiji, the present Bookman and my master. 'Jiji' was just my nickname for him which he had fought tooth and nail for the first weeks, but I'd always been persistent when something piqued my curiosity. And since he'd cast away his true name in order to become the Bookman, I'd decided that 'Jiji' was a cheeky yet fitting enough way to call him and at the same time avoiding some annoying title as 'master'.

Jiji returned my look and nodded slightly before he retreated from the cheering crowds into the darker alleys of town. I knew where he would be and after round fifteen minutes, using some detours not to be tailed by anyone, we met in front of a shabby bar, far from the main streets.

'Anything out of ordinary, junior?', he asked me then in his calm and seemingly uninterested voice. He even sounded old but I guess that couldn't be prevented when you had lived as long and the way as he had up to now. And as he would till his death. My response was short and down to the point.  
'Nope, just another civil war. Same reactions as ever, no too big anomalies, neither in development, mood nor execution. Neither special characters nor importantant information concerning neighbouring conflicts.'  
'Indeed. Well done, Andrej. Then without further delay, it's time for us to leave.'  
At his words an invisible burden fell from my shoulders; finally we would leave this place and move on. Over the last weeks I had felt an incomprehensible but growing pressure somewhere in the back of my head, and a restlessness which had made me irritable and used up most of my self-restraint to keep up my current alias as naive Andrej, the runner of this country's most well-informed newspaper agency. Not to mention that I was sick of this town and its inhabitants. They were ignorant fools, like sheep running in a herd towards the shambles, blindly hailing their own limited horizon, their own celebrated ignorance.  
This pressure lifted from me and finally we'd be on the move again. We had seen what we had come here for, collected the information needed and evaluated the situation and prognosis. Now it was time for us to move, leave this place behind and head for another. For another war, another change, another valuable information and correspondingly to another alias.

_I've stayed in one place for too long  
__Gotta get on the run again  
__I saw the one thing that I want  
__Hell bent, get outta bed  
__I'm throwing rocks at your window  
__You're tying the bed sheets together  
__They say that we're dreaming too big  
__I say this town's too small_

_Dream  
__Send me a sign  
__Turn back the clock  
__Give me some time  
__I need to break out  
__And make a new name  
__Let's open our eyes  
__To the brand new day  
__It's a brand new day_

_I've taken hits like a brother  
__But I'm getting back up again  
__And from the moment I saw her  
__I was hell bent with heaven sent  
__I'm throwing rocks at your window  
__We're leaving this place together  
__They say that we're flying too high  
__Well get used to looking up_

_Dream  
__Send me a sign  
__Turn back the clock  
__Give me some time  
__I need to break out  
__And make a new name  
__Let's open our eyes  
__To the brand new day  
__It's a brand new day  
__It's a brand new day_

...

I think I lost all feeling for time when I realised that the world would never change. That the humans would always stay the same. It was then that I lost the ability to tell the difference between weeks and years, decades and centuries. Everything I documented, everything I read and wrote down and learned about the past and saw with my own eyes in the present – it all melted into the same colours.  
Red – the blood. There was never a time without carnage, without bloodshed. No matter whose – soldiers, civilians, adults, children, wretches and kings... their blood didn't differ.  
White – the priests' robes. There was always an institution claiming to know the reason behind the killings, the problems, the happenings. Claiming to know the difference between good deed and sin. Claiming to act in the name of some god. God – one of the things so utterly abstract and useless to me.  
And finally ashgrey – the dead bodies' colour. If their skin wasn't coverd in blood or dirt, it was an unhealthy ashgrey. It was also the colour of the sky I noticed most often. Whenever I looked up, most of the time the sky seemd to be as grey as ashes. Just like the weapons, shining weapons made of steel; guns, daggers, swords and blades, the tips of arrows, halberds. There was no end to the grey shining weapons invented to kill, to end the lives of others.  
Red, white and ashgrey, together they melted into black, a pitchblack that swallowed everything. And the world was the same all over again. A dark and dirty place, in the end no war ever made it better.

People often say they see how time flies by because of faces growing older, because of children growing up and people changing. Since Jiji and I never stayed in one place for too long, I never got to see such outer developments. And to tell the truth, I didn't care. To me, people just weren't interesting enough. After analysing them for so long, their reactions were predictable, their thinking mundane and shallow. And I was tired of it. Living my new alias time and again, it wasn't difficult to deceive them, make them think whatever lie Jiji had thought of in order to sneak into their community, their homes, their knowledge and plans, their dreams.  
Come to think of it, it was a strange game indeed.  
Us, acting as humans among humans, playing our roles as humans among monsters who shed tears over their own loss but didn't bat an eye when slaying their own kind. So who's the true monster here? Who's truly human? And if Jiji and I were just letting them think of us as humans – then what were we in reality? Maybe just monsters as well?

The Bookman's first priority, first duty is to be objective in the recording of history. Emotions prevent objectiveness. Therefore, emotions are to be banned. As his disciple, that was and is the first thing he's been teaching me. And telling the truth, it's much easier to wander this earth without distracting, restracting feelings. There's no sense in getting attached to that kind of living being that's so eager in destroying itself. No sense in letting them get close because the only thing they can do is hurt you. I don't know this only from the battlefields and wars and actions I've witnessed until this day, but also from my own experience. They are very old, personal memories that I'd rather forget. So I open a door in my mind, put those painful memories behind it and close it well. Seal it behind imaginary bars and locks and iron chains. For those who know not sadness cannot be hurt by it. And those early memories don't belong to my current alias anyway. No need to concern myself with them.

The self that is – who exactly?  
I'm not quite sure.  
Maybe I don't want to know.  
Maybe because I'd find that there's no true 'me' of myself left anymore after locking away the last original experiences.  
There are only objective memories, fake memories, experiences that are not mine but those of an alias. An alias whose existence will eventually end and be replaced by another. Easy as that.  
So where am I left in this equation? See, I'm not even there anymore.  
So right now, I'm only '_Lavi_'.  
There is no other possibilty for me to '_exist_'.  
Easy as that.

Logical as that.  
And in the end, it's logic that I have to follow.  
In order to survive.  
In order to have a reason to stay alive.  
In order to at least pretend to be _'someone_'.


	4. Soldier on my own

Lyrics: woodkid, _Iron_

* * *

I'm sitting close to the cliffs, another grey ocean crushes against the sea-side just beneath my feet. A few metres behind me there are piles of dirty, poisonous dust, the crumbling remains of Akuma I destroyed. They had tried to disguise as a small family and a young couple. Had tried to engage me in a talk; how predictable. It didn't matter wether it was a human or an Akuma, for me they were all the same when it came down to it. In the end they were the same, an enemy.  
I'm standing close to the cliffs' edge, the soil tainted with Akuma blood as well as with the blood of humans. I'm splattered in red and black. The reeking is something I got used to a long time ago.

_Deep in the ocean, dead and cast away  
Where innocence is burned in flames  
A million mile from home, I'm walking ahead  
I'm frozen to the bones, I am...  
_

Back then, at the beginning, I had thought that becoming the Bookman's apprentice would make the pain go away. I'd thought me giving up everything that had formed me until then would erase the painful memories and prevent me from getting new ones. And though it did erase the painfulness, it didn't erase the memory at all. I could still picture the incidents I had nightmares about as clear and photographic as before. The emotional connection had been cut by Bookman, by Jiji, seemingly for good. But the pictures stayed in my mind, unwilling to fade in the least. The knowledge of being tainted remained, it was just the kind of being tainted that had changed.

_A soldier on my own, I don't know the way  
I'm riding up the heights of shame  
I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest  
I'm ready for the fight, and fate_

A crippled hiss was to be heard behind my back whilst my body still faced the sea's wide; a little too close to the cliff's edge maybe, maybe not.  
The moment I thought it and my fingertips touched the end of my weapon, the Innocence reacted and filled my hands. My skin tickled slightly due to the released energy and I didn't even have to utter the invocation aloud to summon my seals and evaporate the level 2 Akuma which had tried to sneak up on me. Sometimes, I was a little surprised as how trusting most people were, how naiv. You always had to expect an attack, be it open or from behind, be it man or woman, adult or child, it didn't matter. And sometimes, I was suprised at how easily I swayed my weapon, how I felt nothing when I killed my enemies. And whoever tried to take my life was my enemy, be it Akuma or human. And by now, it wasn't as if I could just stop thinking this way. It was in my bones, my flesh and muscles, deeply incorporated to distrust without exception and not to hesitate. Nor to feel guilt about the deaths of people. It was just how life, how history went on. And I knew for certain that there would never be an end to it. I just had to look ahead to see the corpses soon to come and pile up once again. The only thing I truly knew and understood.

_The sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head,_  
_The thunder of the drums dictates_  
_The rhythm of the falls, the number of deaths_  
_The rising of the horns, ahead_

_From the dawn of time to the end of days_  
_I will have to run, away_  
_I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste_  
_Of the blood on my lips, again_

I know that I forgot how her skin felt. I remember that I touched her, touched her bare arms, her back, her neck, her cheeks, her eyes. Her lips. I know and yet I forgot how it actually felt. I forgot if it was a warm, soft feeling, if my heart pounded faster, if hers did, if I felt anything at all in those moments. It's kinda sad since it should be something I would recall easily, for it's something everybody experiences at some point in their life, some sooner, some later. And I know that I did sooner. In retrospective, I was pretty young but at the time it had been only natural, it had just been part of growing up. At least that is what they told me.

_The steady burst of snow is burning my hands,  
I'm frozen to the bones, I am  
A million mile from home, I'm walking away  
I can't remind your eyes, your face _

I raise my hands and regard them with a little curiosity and at the same time a little disdain. The seawind blows into my face, cold and salty. I wonder how it felt to touch her with these hands that were now blood-stained, scarred and dirty to the bone. I wonder how I felt, if I still had been able to feel anything at the time. I wonder how she felt.  
And I clench my hands to fists because I can't remember. The memory is there and yet it's gone. I know about the happenings, the facts, but the personal experience seems to have disappeared into the distance. Seems to have lost all meaning.  
I imagine how I twinged; but I don't, of course. It's just the recalling of her twinging at some hurtful memory or sight or word by someone. And even then I can only think about how even words can be weapons. What else could they be._  
_


	5. Nevertheless

I shiver. My shallow breath forms small clouds above my face. I'm lying on my back and the cold of the ground has long since crept through the ragged and tainted Exorcist's uniform. That doesn't really bother me that much, though. It is just another uniform I have traded for the one before. There would be another new one. Maybe. Probably not.  
I try to smile; my sight, facing the wide snow-grey sky, unable to move around like usually and forced to stay still, must be hilarious. But the smile won't come.  
Or so I guess since I can't feel my mouth that well; the sliced lip and the dried blood – flowing and cuffed up – prevent me from obvious facial expressions. That doesn't really bother me that much, either.  
I'm so tired. The cold seems to crystallise throughout my numb body, which, on the one hand, eases the pain from the wounds, but on the other hand stands in the way of me moving fast enough to survive.  
I force my fingers to stretch.

Where is my hammer?  
Where is my weapon?  
Where is my Innocence?  
My innocence...

For a second I believe to feel something warm on my cheeks, before that fleeting impression vanishes. Leaving me to wonder why I would cry.  
There, it's there again.  
Why would there be tears? In a wave of incomprehension, frustration and anger I bite on my crusted lip which reopens and stretch my fingers again, willing my arm to extend only a few centimetres more.  
An electric sensation, followed by a spreading warmth engulfes firstly my hand and consequently my whole frozen body. There it is. My Innocence, my weapon, my hammer.

I smile.  
This is all just a farce, a costume for the ones who discarded their own identity in order to be able to wander through history without being chained down by drowing emotions, pasts, connections, subjectiveness.  
And yet it's a costume, a disguise I don't mind to wear. Especially if it might just save my life. It's my responsibility to stay alive. Doesn't matter if I want to, doesn't matter if I lost interest in humans and wars. My opinion doesn't matter. I'm not even supposed to develop a personal opinion. Being able to read people and situations, react accordingly and foretell the outcome is enough for a Bookman.  
My bones gnash, my muscles and flesh scream as I force my body into a cowering but nearly standing position, gripping my hammer so tight that my frozen fingers feel like standing on fire suddenly. I grind my teeth at the pain and after I hear the gurgling in my lungs, I cough up a new gush of blood.

The akuma grins.  
Death wears a laughing face.  
Lavi grins, his face contorted with pain.  
The Bookman's apprentice wears the mask of a laughing face.  
This time.

Lavi has so many questions.  
I have but one.  
He asks me, why do their deaths not matter?, why can't I comprehend their actions driven by emotions?, why do they trust me at all, just because of a fake smile?, why does she see through my fake smile and why does she hate it so much?, why do they mourn for their fallen ones, other humans are always only a risk, a potential next akuma?  
I only ask myself, from time to time, what if all the other aliases are more real than I?

The akuma laughs.  
Death is a cruel monster created by humans.  
Lavi fights for his life, time and again.


	6. Desires

Lyrics: Skillet, _It's Not Me, It's You_

* * *

You know what, _Lavi_? All the time since you and Jiji entered the Black Order to observe the war as exorcists in order to be able to survive longer and gain more information for our history records – all the time I knew it was wrong for you to take over. I could've done it. I wouldn't have become vulnerable, I wouldn't have become a problem, unlike you.  
At first you didn't seem that much different, just a little more easy-going around others, funnier, even a little friendlier so that the other humans involved in this war would trust you. But with the time you spent close to them, longer than with anyone I'd had to associate with before, you grew dangerously attached. And thus began ravaging your own mind.

_Let's get the story straight  
You were a poison  
You flooded through my veins  
You left me broken_

Whenever you got into situations that forced you to act as _Lavi_ in order to keep your cover, although that stood in contrast to our teachings, even opposed our rules, our dogma, I tried to remind you of exactly those. Tried to remind you of your, of my, of our mission and help you prioritise, just like I'd always done all the years, no matter how the circumstances, no matter which war, which carnage, which people were involved. And you – you just started to argue, to talk me down and forced chains of silence onto me whenever I spoke up, only to make me shut up. Only to prevent me from reminding you of the truth. How often did you try to shatter me already? Shattering a part of yourself.

_You tried to make me think  
That the blame was all on me  
With the pain you put me through  
And now I know that_

_It's not me, it's you, it's not me, it's you_  
_Always has been you_  
_All the lies and stupid things_  
_You say and do, it's you_

I hurt. It hurt so bad to see you lose sanity, and there was nothing I could do, although I tried. _Lavi,_ you, just didn't want to listen to my reasoning, didn't want to see the truth I showed you, but lashed onto me, blamed me for your strange, twisted morality and troubled conscience that were obviously grewing somewhere near the surface. That made you trying to convince you, me of things so obviously wrong that you couldn't even stop lying to yourself. Denying me.  
Why are you stupid, _Lavi_? Your actions don't correspond at all with Jiji's teachings, with how you were brought up, with what you witnessed since you can remember. And that rips you apart, makes the differences between you and me even more clear and sharp-edged.  
And all the while I was trying to help you. At times, through dreams in which I remembered the blood, the ugly gashes, the wide, reeking fields of bodies after a fight, after uncountable fights. The laughter of the murderers, their grinning, smug, distorted faces. Dreams in which I remembered the hollow stares of children who unfortunately had survived the carnage. Not that I especially wanted them dead, but I – and the other personalities before me – knew what dark and cold future awaited those children left behind to fight on their own. Most of them, if not all, would be broken by the adults still left to rampage the world even further. I remembered the hateful stares of those who thought Jiji and I to be enemies, aggressive soldiers or mercenaries. Or they hated for the sake of it. I couldn't have cared less by the time my name was _Deak_. But therefore it weren't nice dreams, but such devoid of hope or light, devoid of any positive emotions which wouldn't have been able to touch neither Jiji nor me, anyway, of that much I was sure. And yet, although I didn't really want to remember, although I didn't need to, I did – I remembered for you. But in your mind, _Lavi_, the objective, distant experiences, the memories, became haunting nightmares.  
You should be able to imagine how much it hurt to have to listen to your desperate hopes, desperate denials, desperate lies. Not understanding the sometimes dangerously sudden flare of feelings. Scared of losing sight of your, our goal, scared of losing see you break down. I was the only one who could see that._  
_

_It's not me, it's you  
All the lies and pain you put me through  
I know that it's not me, it's you, you, you  
It's not me, it's you, you  
_

_So here we go again  
The same fight we're always in  
I don't care so why pretend?  
Wake me when your lecture ends_

And again you argue with me although you know better. Deep within, you know that it's yourself uttering the doubts, the questions; it's you who's being sceptical and you cannot longer see how important a thing that is. How it helped me survive until now and how it's one of the few traits carved into our personality so deep that it's been a part of it for so long, we cannot give up on it anymore.  
I say, Be sceptical! You say, I am but sometimes I have to trust them!  
I try to warn you, You can't! No-one can ever be trusted, be it the Earl, the Noah or humans, mere humans and Exorcists alike.  
You shake your head, clinging to the nice, comforting memories you've made so far with them. Clinging to lies.  
I'm tired of watching you like this and tell you. You're a liar. They wouldn't be this way if they knew your true colours, if they knew how you've never cared about humans, let alone wether they live or die. They'd hate you for your inhumanity which is the one essential thing they miss and can't understand and which seems cold and cruel to others but really is the only option left for those who fathomed out this world and its inhuman laws.  
My my, your thoughts are circling around the same problems all along, your points, your arguments, I know them all and sometimes I ask myself, what do I care? I'm but a former personality, a former fake cover that became part of this fake person with so many different names and yet so little self. Or are there just too many fake minds?  
And again, you don't want to listen, you resist my logic with every fibre and instead of trying to come to terms with me, instead of understanding and realising your illogical, even threatening tightrope walk among these people, you only see the painful stress my memory-dreams cause you. And you fight me, start to hate me, unthink me at times, banish me into the dephts of our conscience whenever you feel threatened by me. And vanishing into these depths is frightful, as frightful as you could never imagine, _Lavi_. Not yet.

_You tried to make me small  
Make me fall and it's all your fault  
With the pain you put me through  
And now I know that  
_

_It's not me, it's you, it's not me, it's you  
Always has been you  
All the lies and stupid things  
You say and do, it's you_

I hate you, _Lavi_. I hate your guts. Thanks to you I'm slowly but steadily getting insane, too. Just like you. Instead of listening to me who's trying to save you, us, you scream at me and – even worse – you ask questions. Questions I don't understand, questions I've never asked before, questions whose answers lead into ominous directions that I've never had to face. So neither have you. You know none of us can know the answers, why are you even trying to blame me for my nescience which consequently is yours, as well? And I hate you for it. Your questions, your growing depth and range of emotions unsettles me, scares me to the core I thought unalterable. I don't have any answers to the questions you pose. But why did you suddenly start posing questions at all? Why, _Lavi_?

_Let's get the story straight  
You were a poison flooding through my veins  
You're driving me insane_

Meeting and fighting Rhode, that petite and unpredictable Noah with the looks of a scrawny girl and the lunatic dreams of centuries of Noahs, was like a revelation. Finally, finally thanks to her psychological mind attacks and mischievous destruction of your inner barriers, I was able to take over. Knowing that Jiji once had sided with the Noah, I wasn't worried at all about her attacking me. I knew she wouldn't, because I, the older _me _of you, the one who united all the perfect ones before _Lavi,_ couldn't care less whose side it was that destroyed the world, the humans's or the Noahs's. And hence I was neither a threat to her nor an enemy. By infiltrating your mind and finally breaking it, she must have seen me, locked away in the dark corners of your consciousness. So the moment you lost it and were torn apart, I was free. And Rhode must have been able to feel the one desire that drove my actions, if you could call it desire at all since it was so devoid of unnecessary emotions and bonds as it should always be. The desire to finally return to the secure indifference with which I'd faced my counterparts and the rest of the world around me most of my life, lest it could touch and taint and hurt me. Lest it could matter to me. I just aimed to save myself, wanted to pull myself out of this mess _Lavi_ created.  
Let me wind down, let me finally ease up in the absence of human contradiction and human emotions. Let me breath again.

_And now you're gone away  
I'm no longer choking  
From the pain you put me through  
And now I know that_

_It's not me, it's you, you, it's not me, it's you  
Always has been you  
All the lies and stupid things  
You say and do, it's you_

_It's not me, it's you  
All the lies and pain you put me through  
I know that it's not me, it's you, you, you  
It's not me, it's you, you_


	7. Paranoid

Lyrics_: Linkin Park, Papercut_

* * *

_Why does it feel like night today?  
Something in here's not right today._

I stop the tapping of my fingers on the wooden table and look around. Familiar faces look back at me, talking away, laughing on their seats in the mensa of the Black Order's new headquarter. Seems like, as often, they integrated me into their discussions and conversations. But right now, it's like the world has been turned upside down and dark water fills my ears and I can't hear a thing. Something clutches at my chest and I try to swallow the growing feeling of it that I can't describe yet and that's flowing icily through my veins.

_Why am I so uptight today?  
Paranoia's all I got left  
I don't know what stressed me first  
Or how the pressure was fed  
_

Without warning, I stand up. The sounds, the noise come back.  
'Lavi? Where are you going?'  
It's Lee Lenalee asking, the slender yet beautiful, long-legged Chinese girl who was the first to welcome and accept me into the ranks of the Akuma slaying people known as Exorcists. Or known as black guardian angels. Or dogs of the Vatican. Or fearsome, black-clad monsters. Or plain murderers. But there were countless names out there that people called them, countless names that this girl didn't need to know. Didn't need to know that I knew. My hand scratches the back of my head lazily as I answer her, slightly evadingly, as so often.  
'Naa, jus' saving me some books from the library, ye know. Otherwise, Jiji's gonna gimme some good working-over fer dodging work.'  
At the last words, I give the twinkle-toed girl a conniving smile and she smiles back and touches my arm lightly.  
'Don't fall asleep again in the library', she tells me, amused though a tad worried. She always worries about everyone. It's a nice trait of hers that contributes to her lovely person. At times, it's just pretty annoying.  
'Won't do. See ye later, Lenalee.'  
At the friendly cries of Allen and Krory, I wave my hand at them, too, walking out of the spacious mensa with arms folded behind my head, looking not too eager to supposedly meeting my master.

_But I know just what it feels like  
To have a voice in the back of my head_

The headquarter is so big that sometimes you can walk for half an hour without setting eyes on anyone, no Finders, no researchers, no employees, no other Exorcists. When I was lucky, the cold stone corridors would be devoid of any sound aside the crackle of flames illuminating them and a low breeze of chilly wind. Right now, I was lucky. Shadows flickering over the ground, my steps echoe hollowly from the darkish walls. And the growing feeling I couldn't explain amongst the others minutes before, now becomes crystal-clear and frightingly tangible. It's the presence of something alive, something so close to me it takes the space I need to breathe, too close for me to feel comfortable, too close as to feel safe.  
And when I'm honest with myself, I know that this something is really someone.

_Like a face that I hold inside  
A face that awakes when I close my eyes  
A face watches every time I lie  
A face that laughs every time I fall  
(And watches everything)  
_

I inhale deeply and open my eyes. When did I close them, anyway? It doesn't matter because I'm standing in the middle of the library. More precisely, the oldest part where the most withered, most treasured, rarest books and scrolls of this country are stored. Also, it's the wing only a few selected people are allowed access to. Goes without saying, since I'm the Bookman's apprentice, I am one of those exceptions, as well. But it's not some old script I'm here for whilst the moon shines through the high gothic windows, plunging everything into a pale, otherworldly light. Dead light, so to speak. The moon might be beautiful to some people, might even be worth a look by me, by my current persona, but of course I know that the moon is only visible because it reflects the sun's rays, using that star's light to present its own dead surface to this dark, dead world. How could that be anything romantic, let alone beautiful?  
In the middle of the room, I sit down cross-legged, inhale again, and this time I close my eyes fully conscious, shutting out my surroundings and shutting in myself behind the bars of my eyelids.  
And I can hear _him_ whisper.  
His words are my words, and yet they are strange, unfamiliar words to me.  
They are now because I must try my best to distinguish myself from the one whispering. At least in fron of others.  
Because he still lurks under the surface, crawls under my skin and waits for me to get weak.  
I clench the hands resting on my knees to fists.  
It's him whispering sweetly facile lies into my thoughts effortlessly.  
Who taunts me whenever I feel my chest getting a little heavier at a new lie. Although, naturally, I'm used to lying for as long as I can remember. And although it didn't bother me before. Never.  
It's him who's laughing whenever I say too much, feel too much.  
_  
So I know that when it's time to sink or swim  
That the face inside is hearing me  
Right beneath my skin  
_

Lurking, watching with my eyes in order to catch the right moment when I'm off guard. Listening to what the others confide to me, searching for a crack in my mask. And I know the cracks are there. It's making me angry, this grown window of vulnerability, this whole fighting myself. I should know better. I do know better. Still, it sometimes feels as if it's not me alone in this body everyone calls 'Lavi' now. As if the part of me, or more precisely, the numerous shards this living, breathing part consists of, is too different than to be accepted by my current personality. And whenever I close my eyes, I'm not so sure wether all these shards make me who I am, or wether my self has broken in smithereens many moons before and these shards are just the imperfect, inchoate remains of who I was, once, a long time ago.

_It's like I'm paranoid lookin' over my back  
It's like a whirlwind inside of my head  
It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within  
It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin  
_

Trying to argue with the persona inside of me who could call himself 'Deak' or 47 different names altogether, has never ended the fight but I try, nonetheless. It's something only 'Lavi' would do, and I'm aware of the contradictions the growing sympathy of my current alias creates. It's not like 'me' against 'Deak', because I AM Deak. And all the other 47 personalities beside him. It's not like I can't remember being them, impersonating them; it's not like I want to forget what they, what I experienced. It's not like I could, anyway. All the gruesome experiences throughout my life made me who I am now. Though forgetting them all would definitely make being friendly, easy-going, cheeky 'Lavi' a whole lot easier, a whole lot more bearable.  
So in the end, I'm just arguing with myself when I ask questions into the enchained, locked away dark of my mind. And it's just myself answering from behind one of the numerous doors where all the memories of the respective persona are kept. Kept safe and barred. Yet, the voice answering at the moment comes from behind a door which is left ajar. I don't remember exactly when the door opened. Or wether it was me who openend it or Deak himself. Which, I realise, wouldn't really make a difference.  
My right eye starts to hurt and my fingernails dig into the palms of my hands.

'Hey Lavi', says the voice from the shadows behind the barely opened door. The locks and bars and iron chains hang uselessly in front of it.  
'Don't call me that', I reply inwardly.  
'Why not? It's what you're called for the time being, isn't it?'  
'You know that's not my true name. That it's not your true name, _Deak._'  
The answer comes seemingly indifferent, he still doesn't reveal himself but stays behind his door.  
'_Our_ true name is something we discarded long, long ago. It contains no meaning anymore, never really has. I bet you can't even remember it.'  
I don't react to his provocation. But he is wrong, I do remember. I remember everything. So he gets more aggressive. And I understand his aggressiveness, his accusations, understand why he has to act this way because it's just like I would secretly react, it's just what I keep asking myself over and over again. Without anyone noticing my inner conflict. Without anyone noticing how much, at times, the disremption _hurts_.

'You are so different, why would I call you anything other than the strange, incomprehensible person you play right now? You are no longer me, no longer feel only like me. Sometimes, you feel things you can't explain, I can't explain because I never experienced them before! And I've never wanted to. How can you just accept how much that hurts without switching those damned emotions off? Why did you start letting them affect you, letting them touch you, in the first place? It hurts!'

_I know I've got a face in me  
Points out all my mistakes to me_

In the depths of my abstruse, obscure mind, my feet have taken me to the slightly opened door with the name 'Deak' on it. My hands rest on the thick wood and iron bars which feel cold and firm. Not firm enough, though, obviously. It doesn't bother me in this instant, as I step aside and stand in the gap filled with shadows from behind the door, from everywhere. My green left eye scans the duskiness and I sense him staring back. Feel his presense so close. Can feel his hatred, my hatred, my anger that I'd rather not reveal to anyone or, even better, not undergo at all. But it's too late. I tried to push all the confusion and anger away and thus only admitted to experiencing them. The contrast to my former self couldn't have been starker. The shock not deeper. The pain not more frightening.

And I step into his room.

_You've got a face on the inside too and  
Your paranoia's probably worse  
I don't know what set me off first  
But I know what I can't stand  
Everybody acts like the fact of the matter is  
I can't add up to what you can but  
_

A hard slap into my face, spinning the shadows around until my mind's obscurity dissolves into a pale, dead light – I've opened my eye in shock to the incipient burning pain – and I'm still on the cold stone ground of the secret library but now forced on my ellbows due to the sudden blow's force.  
Jiji's standing right in front of me, his black Exorcist's clothes together with his high ponytail make his silhouette against the moonlight look like that of a djinn. His eyes are narrowed to slits, as often, and he stares down at me with this inscrutable, piercing, knowing gaze of his. Hands covered by the long sleeves of his uniform – I've often wondered how many different uniforms he must've worn throughout his long life but he never told me – he speaks.

'Get up, Lavi. We have work to do.'

For a moment I'm tempted to give a retort and talk back to him, but then I remember that no-one beside us is present here and that there is no need to play 'Lavi' anymore than needed. So I only nod and get up, just as he's told me. It's easier to be with the one person who knows who you are not, than being with people who think know who you ought to be.  
My limbs are a tad numb and I wipe off the dust from my trousers and shirt before turning back to Jiji who hasn't moved an inch. His robes hide his weapons, scrolls, quills and old yet unbelievably acurate hands. He's never raised his hand against me without reason, though. So I'm not afraid of him, albeit the others sometimes are since he keeps silent and observant most of the time (like the Bookman should), yet can seem quite violent at times, as if an old volcano suddenly erupts. Still, I'm not afraid of him. He's the one constant – besides the wars and human idiocy – that always accompanied me. He's the one person who doesn't care about who I'm not, what I'm not, because we are the same, in some way.

'What's the matter, Old Man?', I ask, slightly irritated by his stare. Usually, he just tells me to get my workload done and reminds me, _Lavi_, of not accidentally leaking too much information about the Bookman tribe or knowledge I'm not supposed to share with anyone. Sometimes, Lavi just gets carried away...

Jiji notices the sign of annoyance, of course, but ignores it.  
'You are not to wander off for the sake of letting your guard down', he replies, and I can tell he's serious about it. Neither his posture nor his voice's volume change, but still, I can tell.  
'Alright, alright', I respond and turn towards the library's exit behind all the dark, fully stacked bookshelves worth a fortune for insiders. After a few steps, I feel a hand on my back and look to see Jiji walking to my left.  
'Don't let yourself be confused by what you experience at this stage', he urges me.  
Suddenly, he looks just a little older than usually, as he continues, his hand still resting strong and tutelar right below my shoulders.  
'It will stop. Most Bookmen, at some point, undergo this confusing diremption. Only remember that it will stop if you can handle it. But you have to stop it yourself, soon, Junior. Otherwise, becoming the Bookman will kill you. No matter your abilites.'

_Everybody has a face that they hold inside  
A face that awakes when I close my eyes  
A face watches every time they lie  
A face that laughs every time they fall  
(And watches everything)_

_So you know that when it's time to sink or swim_  
_That the face inside is watching you too_  
_Right inside your skin_

My heart hammers against my ribcage, the heart which, lately, I often wish I wouldn't feel at all, wouldn't possess, wouldn't have to deal with. Jiji's hand vanishes, my back feels cold and I can hear _him_ whispering – whispering of truths I've already known for such a long time, whispering of fears, doubts, hope. _Hope_? I hear myself chuckling as we walk down the corridors of the Black Order's headquarter, heading for our shared room.  
'What's the matter?', Jiji asks when I close the door behind us, using exactly my words from the library, maybe just to mock me a little. He has his own sense of humour.  
'Nothing important', I answer. 'I was only reminded of Lavi's strange processing of perception. It's so illogical sometimes that it feels like going crazy. But the thought of going crazy for the sake of some humans is just madness itself. I found that quite amusing.'  
Jiji looks at me and remains silent.

After hours of working through newspapers, books and diaries, Jiji finally allows himself and me to rest for a few hours. Through the high gothic windows of our room, dawn announces itself but to me it feels like another night, like dusk and the light seems so wrong that I rub my eyes in order to assure myself I'm not yet dreaming. Grateful for the break, I let myself fall onto my bed. My thoughts can't seem to calm down, though, they are still rushing, storming through my mind like a tempest. And I can hear the numerous doors with their iron bars and chains rattle, and I can feel _him_ waiting behind the slightly opened door that's more like a dungeon to him and everything else I have to distance myself from, for the time being.

'Get to sleep now, Junior', I hear Jiji saying in the twilight filled room, and I close my eyes.  
'Don't forget who you are not. That is what defines you. That is the only certainty you need to keep yourself together.'  
And whilst drifting off into yet another dream, nightmare, memory which I hopefully won't remember in a few hours, I wonder if I will ever be able to forget anything. My right eye aches ever so slightlyat that thought and I'm not sure wether that would help me or actually strip me of the one ability that saved me until today.  
Deak doesn't know either.

_It's like I'm paranoid lookin' over my back  
It's like a whirlwind inside of my head  
It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within  
It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin_

_The face inside is right beneath your skin_

_The sun goes down_  
_I feel the light betray me_  
_The sun goes down_  
_I feel the light betray me_

_It's like I'm paranoid lookin' over my back_  
_It's like a whirlwind inside of my head_  
_It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within_  
_It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within_  
_It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within_  
_It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin_


	8. Deadhearted Night

Lyrics: Razorlight, _Wire to Wire_

* * *

_What is love but the strangest of feelings?  
A sin you swallow for the rest of your life?_

I've never loved anyone. I've never fallen in love with anyone. Does that sound sad? Pitiful? As if I'm missing something? It isn't really. How could you miss something you've never experienced before? And why would I miss such a thing, such an emotion that can cause so much trouble, so much pain, and so much hatred. Why would I miss the feeling of needing someone else, of being jealous and envious, of being dependent on another human being, not for my body's but my mind's sake? That's illogical.

_You've been looking for someone to believe in  
To love you, until your eyes run dry_

She cries a lot. I can't count how many times I've seen her cry since the first time I met her at a funeral. Not the funeral, but one among numerous. And yet, although she'd seen so many dead, so many people dying already, just like me, she didn't seem to get used to it. Must be painful. So, regardless of her fighting strength and her caring, lovely attitude, she still often cries. Usually, this girl doesn't want others to see, doesn't want others to know that she feels weak for not having been able to protect and safe every last one around her. But I know. Even if the others are lulled by her smiles, her laughter, her seeming natural and alright – my eye detects the faint traices of tears on her cheeks, the fading red in the corners of her eyes. Sometimes, when she's close to me, I can even smell the dried tears.

_She lives by disillusuion's glow_

I guess, by now, she knows the ugly truth of this world. And that there are countless different truths and every living person has their own and clashes it against the strangers's. Yet, she doesn't seem to like the thought of acknowledging that because she still looks out for the one thing I can't but detest. Love. How unnecessary. How false. How illusional. You don't need love to care for a person, you don't need love to father children, you neither need love for caresses nor sex. You don't need such an emotion in order to enjoy yourself. So why bother? It only comes with the disadvantages of being in need of another person, of being vulnerable to your foes, of wasting your time by thinking unnecessary thoughts and being confused by your hormones. Pretty pathetic, isn't it.

_We go where the wild blood flows_

I always know when she cried. By now, I can sense it without having to be close to her to notice the, at least for me and Bookman, and maybe even for her brother, obvious signs. But sometimes, I can taste it, too.

She breathes out, her dark eyes closed, as my lips touch her skin ever so lightly. Her cheeks are a tad salty. Despite my efforts, I can't stop my heart from beating just a little faster, can't stop my blood from pumping faster through my veins, even if it's really only a little. She runs her delicate hands over my bare arm, light as a feather over my neck and then up my face. Goosebumps follow her traices, although it's not cold in here. Slowly, without opening her eyes, she leans back against the pillows of her bed, still holding my face in her hands, so I follow carefully. Pressed against each other, I can feel her body's warmth even through our layers of clothes. It's a wonderful, somehow comforting warmth, though I wouldn't know why I needed any comfort anyway. Nevertheless, it makes me feel safe in a way I can't remember I've ever felt before, because I have never actually been safe my whole life. It was always a question of surviving, no matter where Jiji and I went, it was always us against whoever tried to take our lives or anything else from us. Even worse before I met Jiji and became his apprentice. Even more so, since we joined the Black Order and had to take a side in this war in order to be able to do our job.  
So I can't understand where this feeling of being safe originates.

_On our bodies we share the same scar_

Her dark eyes look at me through black eyelashes, her cheeks are rosy, her lips fuller than usually and just as soft. Her fingers caress the right side of my face, stroke gently around the eye-patch whilst her other hand runs through my red hair which, without the bandana I wear most of the time, falls tousled down to my cheeks. With every fallen layer no longer keeping us distant, her warmth fondles my skin more. My presumption proves true; I learn that her slender body bears many scars, some of which are more obvious than others. She's managed to avoid serious slashes until now, though. And I'm somewhat relieved since I can tell by the place and depth of a scar how much it must have hurt. No point in not wanting her to be in pain because she's an Exorcist, just like me for the moment, and Exorcists fight in a war and get beaten up, bruised, slashed, mutilated and scarred. As long as they do survive, of course.  
I didn't notice that I closed my left green eye but amidst the few flickering candles and torch-light, it seems too difficult to open it again, so I pull her even tighter to my own scarred body and, burying my face into the soft nook above her collarbone, inhale her fragrance.

_Love me, wherever you are_

Skin against skin, we breathe in the engulfing silence whilst the candles burn down one after another and the darkness draws nearer around us. Her hands rest on my back, her fingers waver for a moment above my skin and then, tentatively, trace the reminders of previous fights carved into my skin and bones and memory. It doesn't hurt. Yet, I shudder involunatarily and writhe, suddenly feeling uneasy as dim flood lights pass by my mind. She hesitates, her breathing stops for a second before she strokes a wisp of hair out of my eyes and whispers.  
'I'm sorry.'  
You don't have to be.  
You don't have to be.  
I kiss her small breast, her collarbone, her neck and run my own hand over her forehead, temple and through her black hair. Our eyes meet, so I also carefully kiss her eyelids closed and concentrate on her heart beating against my torso and on the warmth she gives me. The comfort I don't comprehend but still appreciate. Have I really become such a hypocrite?

'Lavi.'  
The name she calls me, with a voice so low I almost missed it, echoes faintly in my ears and for a second I wonder whom she spoke to. But that second passes, like all the endless before it did, as well, and I smile when I feel her lips on my forehead, on my nose, on my own mouth. After sharing our air again, breathing fieriness and ardour into each other, tasting each other, she calls me again, sounding a wee bit breathless.  
'Lavi.'  
'Hmm?'  
She hesitates.  
'… I think I love you.'

_She lives by disillusion's glow  
We go where our wild blood flows  
On our bodies we share the same scar_

No! You don't. You're fooled by your body, fooled by your great dream, fooled by your longing for something I could never truly give to anyone. You just mistook both our desire for the sign of an emotion you admire and I despise, an emotion you can't live without and I can't live with. So stop saying those things, I don't want to hear them. Because I know I shouldn't feel anything in response, and yet, I do. I'm disgusted by myself, by revealing to myself that in this case I'm a hypocrite, too. Just like so many others. Only facing this matter, I can't distance myself from some petty human.  
Her gaze pierces through me and from her reaction I can tell that this isn't the face she wished for me to make. I know. That's the exact reason I'm making it. Her dark eyes widen, her hands on my shoulders clench slightly and I can see pain flooding her face. She swallows, her lips part but no sounds come out, so she bites on them and there's a hint of desperation creeping up on her.

_You've been looking for someone you can trust  
To love you, again and again_

Lavi?, she seems to ask silently, just with her gaze.  
You don't love me, I answer just as silently and straightly, blankly stare her down. And it's definitely not me you've been looking for. It's not me whom you wanted to give your heart to nor is it me who's able to give you the love and trust and safety you are craving for.

_How do you love with a faith full of rust?  
How do you turn what the savage take?_

What if I'm just unable to feel love? That's the question hovering above all my thoughts, hovering saturnely over me whenever I'm faced with someone who expects me to return their meaningless 'love' or whatever they call their demands. It's suffocating. In the name of so-called love humans beat you bloody, tear your skin apart, tear your self apart and pant and laugh and snarl doing it. How could I ever believe in something like that.  
'Lavi?'  
You can't trust anyone.  
And without trust, how could you possibly love someone? How could your unpredictable, yet to Jiji and me so predictable feelings gain the strength to evolve into love?  
Sometimes, disappointment and experiencing cruelties is the only way for opening one's eyes to see and understand the ugliness of this world with all its walking and talking, beating and killing, raping and smugly laughing monsters called humans.  
After being witness to any of that, anybody would shut down emotionally, wouldn't they? I'm not that exceptional, it's the only logic thing to do, isn't it? Everybody strives to protect their own skin. In general, humans are savages, abusing the ones smaller, weaker than themselves, not caring about any consequences, just bathing in the pain they inflict on others, in the agony, the screams, the pleas and tears. And the ground feels so cold and their skin is cold, though, nauseatingly hot and their voices rough and lewd and they are _enjoying it_.

_How do you love in a house without feelings?  
How do you turn what the savage take?_

A wave of her calming fragrance washes over me as she impetuously pulls me close, our bodies even more firmly pressed against each other than before. Her arms are wrapped tigthly around me, it seems as if she wants to embrace me with her whole being, with everything she has to offer and even that wouldn't be enough for her.  
'Lavi', she says, nearly whispers, but doesn't let go of me, doesn't move an inch, instead is keeping our warm skin together, keeping the distance away, keeping the growing darkness around us away. The last candle in her room flickers and dies down.  
'Please, stop! Stop whatever you were doing just now', she beseeches me. 'I don't know what you were thinking about but it seemed to hurt so bad, you seemed so out of your mind that it frightened me! I've never seen you looking like that before.'  
I don't know what to respond, yet, somehow, Lavi does. Returning the embrace, stroking her gently, he answers soothingly.  
'Don't cry, you're imagining things.'  
I hear her inhale deeply, can almost see her biting her lip for a second, can smell the salt. She caresses my neck, her lips brush over it, I can but close my left eye again.

_I've been looking for someone to believe in  
Love me, again and again_

'I love you. Lavi, Bookman Junior.'  
With a jolt, my arms push her back, it's a reaction so fast and instantaneous, I couldn't have prevented it even if I'd wanted. She's looking straight at me now, her gaze clear and a tad shimmery with last tears and unflinching, nonetheless.  
'I heard you the first time...'  
'You don't have to love me back, you know?'  
That takes me by surprise. But I'm not naive enough to buy the bait, not even when it's coming from _her_. Or so I keep telling myself.

_How do you love on a night without feelings?  
She says love, I hear sound, I see fury_

Her fingertips linger on my neck, stroke over my cheeks and through my red hair.  
'We don't have to change anything', she says.  
Your words change everything, my mind wants to tell her.  
'I just wanted you to know.'  
I didn't want to know.  
'You are so precious and don't even acknowledge that yourself but keep putting yourself into unnecessary danger. But I'm telling you – you are precious to me and I wish to be there for you whenever _you_ need someone. It's just an offer. Nothing more but also nothing less.'  
I don't need anyone, I never have. That's how I survive, that's the easiest way for me to keep on going.  
Her palm rests on my chest, right above my beating heart that so often I wish to be ripped out for good.  
'Have you ever loved anyone? Lavi?'  
No, I think. No, I want to tell her. Never. And I'm so afraid to start loving someone that I'd rather crush any attempt together with the person frightening and cornering me with their feelings.  
But I can't crush you, I realise. Not anymore.

_She says love's not a hostile condition  
Love me, wherever you are_

Her eyelashes partly hide her dark eyes now, as she lowers her glance. And against everything I've learned and internalised until today, against every hurting scar, against every painful, haunting memory, against every nightmare I've awoken from drenched in sweat – I cup her face between my hands, behold it on the spur of the moment, and kiss her, filled with emotions beyond my ken.

I don't care if this is love or not, these thoughts tangled with all kinds of well-grounded, reasonable worries and doubts rush through my head like a storm, but I'm in the eye of the storm and don't mind it. I don't care because all I've taken from being with you and sharing your warmth has been so good. And there is so little good and even less I can appreciate and understand, that I don't mind. I don't care what this is. Maybe I do love. Maybe it wasn't just you longing for someone holding you close, embracing you in the deepest way they can, but me, as well. Maybe I love you, too. How could I ever tell._  
_

_Love me, wherever you are  
Love me, wherever you are  
Love me, wherever you are  
Wherever you are _


End file.
